The Drabble Collection
by Kaia Mariacle
Summary: Just a series of drabbles I wrote. Each one has nothing to do with the others, but I decided they needed a place to live. *warning: slash*
1. Clean

You know that feeling just after you've taken a shower?  
  
You're skin is still flushed and heated from the water, and you stand in the middle of the bathroom and just.....sigh.   
  
You're clean. You feel rejuvenated and fresh. You're hair is damp and drops of water drip from the ends, down your back, and onto the floor. There's watery footprints puddling around your feet, and you don't care.  
  
You've washed away all your sins.   
  
But what about when you don't want to wash them away? What about when you haven't bathed in two days, because you might lose his scent?   
  
You can still smell that subtle cologne he wears, and the taste of spearmint gum glistens beneath your tongue.  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Complete

*I can't get no satisfaction.*  
  
Isn't that how the song goes?  
  
It's funny how you hear a song on the radio, and it makes you close the window, tell everyone to shut up, and turn the volume up. You sit there, and listen to the lyrics, and think it's so strange how that song fits your life.  
  
Later, you're doing something, reading or watching t.v., and the song pops into your head. Your kid sister glares at you, then remembers she's not allowed to, and walks out of the room. Your parents frown, because that's not a song you're supposed to know.  
  
The song is in your head, and you can hum the tune, but you can't quite remember all the words. You've only heard it once, so the refrain is running through your head, over and over, until your about to go insane.   
  
Then he comes over.   
  
The boy who the song made you think of, and he hears you singing it, and just as you get to the end of the parts you remember, he continues.   
  
Finishing it for you.  
  
"A little old-school, but pretty cool." He says when he's done, shrugging. "Not the type of music I usually listen to, but my dad puts on his old records once in a while."   
  
"I've been trying to remember the words all day."   
  
He shrugs again, "That's the annoying thing about having a song stuck in your head. You usually only remember certain parts." he grabs an apple off the coffee table, and takes a bite, grinning at you with apple stuck in his teeth. Then he swallows. "So, loser, you finish the history homework."   
  
You nod, laughing.   
  
"Cool, send it on over."   
  
He spends the next twenty minutes copying your work, humming that damn song under his breath.   
  
You lean back into the couch, and grin, grabbing the apple he'd been chomping. Your mouth fits perfectly over the bite mark.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Someday

He sometimes thought that he needed a story.  
  
Colin had the coma victim. Poor, me I lost my memory, and went insane after the miracle worker from New York saved my life. I can't even remember my girlfriends name, or how to count to ten. It was my best friend's fault that I turned out this way. I'm the town hero, and you should feel sorry for me.   
  
Or Ephram, the outsider from New York. My mom died, and my dad went crazy. I moved to Everwood, a place where no one likes me, and I'm so angsty and broody, and I have to insult everyone in sight. Because I'm from the 'city' and you're not cool enough to chill with.  
  
Okay, so maybe their stories weren't so great.   
  
Maybe neither of them deserved what happened to them. They'd both been down rough roads, and were just starting to find their way back home.  
  
But Bright hated the both of them sometimes.   
  
He wanted to be known as someone other that 'Amy's brother' or 'Colin's best friend.' He just wanted someone to look at him, and see SOMETHING.   
  
Soon, Ephram and Colin are going to have another story for the town to salivate over.   
  
Bright thinks that maybe that's why he hates them...once in a while.   
  
Before Ephram came, he had Colin. He had a best friend and a confidante, someone who'd always be there for him. And before Colin woke up, he had Ephram. He had an enemy that he could taunt, someone who always had a sarcastic remark ready for him.   
  
Now, they have each other.   
  
Someday Bright will have his own story.   
  
He just wishes someday was now. 


	4. See

I know what they think when they look at me.   
  
They see a dumb jock with the inability to understand a single intelligence word. An idiotic bully, who gets what he wants using brute force and prettyboy looks.  
  
They see someone who only knows how to play basketball, and football. Someone who sits at the cool table at lunch, and picks on the less popular students because it gives him a thrill. The boy who went allstate last year in track, but can't even form an coherent sentence in class.   
  
I'm Bright Abbot. The boy who's best friend is in a coma, who's family is the most prestigious in town. Who cares for no one but himself.   
  
They see that, because that's what I let them see.  
  
Because If I truly showed them who I was, I'd be at the loser table at lunch, sitting with the geeks who gush over chemistry and Shakespeare. I'd be the dork in the front row in history, telling the class who F. Fitzgerald was, and I'd be the one getting snickered at from the jocks in the back.   
  
The one who got pounded behind the gym in the eighth grade because his eyes lingered a little too long on the other boys in the shower.   
  
Amy thinks I hate Ephram.  
  
But there's a reason I treat him the way I do.   
  
I'm afraid if I slow down, if I look for too long.  
  
I'm afraid that he'll see me.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Fate

They didn't come together in a frantic, 'I want you' kind of way.  
  
It was much more gradual. The transition from acquaintances to friends to lovers was a slow process. They didn't meet and fall instantly in love. They were both quite surprised when it did happen.   
  
Anyone who knew them then, and now, would disagree.   
  
They'd say they could see it coming, knew from the first time those boys looked at each other.  
  
Ephram likes to think that they were meant to end up this way.  
  
He'd never been one for procrastination, but he thinks that maybe they had to stumble through all the pitfalls before they could see what they had in each other.  
  
Maybe he'd needed that time when he was fifteen, and in love, and angry with the world. When he met a boy named Colin, who was just as lost as him, and found a friend where he'd least expected it.   
  
Colin liked to think that he was supposed to end up this way. Reborn, a new spirit inside his body. And just maybe he was supposed to forget everything, to never remember, because it's what made him into the man he's become.  
  



	6. Fantasy

Sometimes Colin dreams about the sound of bone hitting flesh.  
  
In his dreams, Ephram is standing in front of him, shouting, and Colin is outside his body, aspectator as he watches his nightmare play out.   
  
He sees himself pull back a fist, and then it all starts playing in slow motion.  
  
He always shouts, telling himself to stop, but that sound, that terrible, sick sound always echoes moments later.   
  
And he always watches Ephram fall to the ground, hand cradling his face as he stares up at Colin, eyes colored with anger and sadness.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sometimes Colin dreams about sighed murmurs and whispered endearments.  
  
In his dreams, Ephram is laid out before him, smiling, and Colin is straddling his thighs, staring into an adoring gaze. He reaches down, tracing his name across a taut nipple.  
  
He always whimpers as their mouths meet, as the soft whispers are exhaled against his lips. And he always watches Ephram come, hands cradling his face tenderly as they lay there, those eyes staring up at him, satiated and in love.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Colin knows the dreams of making love to Ephram are just dreams.  
  
He can change them, switch them around, touch and caress wherever he wants. Kiss lips or neck or stomach. They can be in his bedroom, in Ephram's, or pressed up against the hard desks at school.   
  
He loves those dreams.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Colin knows the dreams of hitting Ephram aren't just dreams.  
  
He can't change them. His bones will always connect with Ephram's flesh. Ephram will always fall to the ground. They will always be outside the diner, and they will always be standing on a dingy sidewalk beneath glowing streetlights.  
  
He hates them, because of what they are.  
  
He hates them because they're real.


	7. Conform

I really like Eminem. Really.  
  
I mean, that's what I'm supposed to like. Right?  
  
It was one of the cd's I found in my room, when I was diging through piles of junk. It had my name written on it in permanent marker, so I'm pretty sure it's something I like.  
  
But whenever I play it, I close my eyes and dream of softer sounds.   
  
Bright has a lot of cd's. Yesterday he picked out a few, and gave them to me, told me that they were mine before, and he had never returned them. I can't bring myself to listen to them, because I'm afraid that if I do, I won't like them.   
  
I'm supposed to like rap and basketball and girls.  
  
I'm not supposed to have a hidden stash of jazz records in the back of my closet. Or hide comic books inside my Sports Illustrated.   
  
I'm not supposed to want to kiss Ephram Brown.  
  
But I do.  



	8. Betrayal

We're so wrapped up in each other, that we don't realize the door to the auditorium is opening behind us. And the gasp that sounds seconds later echoes down the hall.   
  
I pull away from him quickly, and turn.   
  
Oh God, Colin.   
  
He's standing there, staring at me with this look of utter and complete betrayal.  
  
"Colin, no.....this isn't what it looks like." I stammer, my heart in my throat.   
  
"Really?" He crosses his arms, and I can see the anger he's trying to hold back. "Because it looks like you were just kissing Bright."   
  
"We..I mean....we were.......I just...." I don't know what to say.  
  
"You were just...making out with him." He nods his head, looking down for moment before looking back up at me. I can't stand what I see in his eyes.  
  
I look away, listening to his footsteps as he walks away.


	9. Planning

I really hate funerals.   
  
Correction. I really hate the people at funerals.   
  
The people that didn't even know my mom, but came to her to her funeral anyway. The people that shook my hand, and told me how sorry they were. How great a person she was, how much they were going to miss her.  
  
I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to burst into tears. I wanted to crawl into the coffin with my mother, and pretend that it was all a nightmare.  
  
I once told Colin that when I die, I want a funeral, but I only want three people to be there.  
  
Him, my dad, and Delia.  
  
He looked at me weird, but promised to make it happen.  
  
Then he kissed me.  
  



	10. Flying

When Ephram was five, he asked his mother a question.  
  
Her asked her why fish couldn't fly.  
  
She laughed, pushing a wisp of bangs from her eyes, and crouched in front of him. She asked him why he wanted to know.  
  
He told her he though they were pretty. As pretty as birds, and birds could fly. He said it wasn't fair that fish couldn't fly too.   
  
She ran a tender hand down his arm, pulled him close, and whispered that fish could fly.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Ephram was fifteen he learned that his mother was right.  
  
Sitting on the shores of a deep, blue lake, watching the fish swim by, and the birds fly overhead. Watching Colin wrap his arms around Amy and tug her close. Watching them laugh and exchange kisses.   
  
Watching Colin as he glanced over his shoulder at Ephram, winking at him suggestively before Amy asked him a question, and he turned back around to answer.  
  
Ephram looked away.  
  
He thought about what his mother had said as he watched a bird dip into the water, and capture a fish. It clenched the squirming mass between it's beak, and flew over Ephram's head.   
  
He watched the bird and fish, as they both flew high up into the clouds.   
  
And he watched, when moments later, the fish fell to the shore, torn and bloodied.   
  
Broken.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Ephram was five, he asked his mother why fish couldn't fly.  
  
She told him that they could.  
  
She never told him how much it would hurt. 


	11. Struggling

I don't know who I am.

It's all jumbled. Mangled. Bits and pieces strewn across the floors. The bed. The window. Everywhere I see, hear, smell. Everything I taste. 

I don't know where up is. And down is a place I've only just visited. Where is the light and the dark and the gray? The shaded places, rich in browns and golds. They've only just moved within my grasp.

I want and I need and I feel.

But I don't know how to tie my own shoes. 

My parents bought me those velcro strap shoes. You know, the ones you just slip on, and velcro across the top? They said it would be easier, less of a challenge for me. 

I threw them in the river. 


	12. Thorns

~Warning: disturbing themes ahead.~

Ephram remembers when he used to make himself bleed. 

Slow, deep strokes. Harsh and aching and beautiful.

He'd slide the razor, deep, deep, deep. His hand was steady and sure, and when blood dripped down his thigh, around his knee, across his hand, he'd whimper.

Ecstasy like nothing else could give him. 

He remembers the day his mother found him. Laying on the bathroom floor, knees up and feet pressed against the cold tile. His thigh was a mass of scars and contusions and fresh blood. She dropped to her knees, and pulled the razor away from him gently. 

She showed him the scars on her thighs, her stomach. Made him touch them, fondle them. Kiss them. 

She whispered softly in his ear, and called him her baby boy.

Then she pressed rough lips to his, and he felt the caress of the razor on his arm. 

He remembers darkness and bright lights surrounding him. The cool feel of the tile on his back as she climbed atop him. He remembers the sound of the t.v. from the living room as his shirt was pulled up over his head.

He remembers the worried look on his father's face when he came home from work that night, the concern and the strong hands that checked the deep gash in his arm, replacing the poorly wrapped bandage. His mother smiling softly behind her cup of tea, telling his father that Ephram was a big boy, and didn't need to be coddled.

He doesn't remember the sweating flesh of his mother atop him, as she tore away his boxers. He doesn't remember the invading tongue, slithering inside his mouth, causing a sick, heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He doesn't remember crying out, whimpering for his dad. 

Praying he'd come home and stop her.


	13. Shoreline

A dark shadow enveloped him, and he squinted behind tinted lenses to stare up at the evildoer blocking his Sun.

"Yes?" He leaned up on an elbow, eyebrows up and questioning. "How can I help you?" 

The evildoer just grinned at him, then pulled something from behind his back.

Ephram stared at the bucket, eyes wide in horror. 

And before he could say anything the bucket tipped, and ice-cold water covered him. The mastermind behind the bucket started laughing wildy as Ephram flailed about, then took off running when the other boy jumped up. 

"Bright!" He shouted, shaking the water off as he chased his boyfriend. "I'm so going to kick your ass!" 


	14. Finals

Bright groaned as Ephram dipped a slick tongue into his bellybutton.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck...." he chanted as the smaller man ran sleek hands across his thighs, grasping the sides as the dark head moved closer to it's destination.

"Like that?" Ephram taunted, curling his tongue around a slick, shaking finger. He grinned up at at Bright. "Good?"

Bright nodded shakily, and grasped his bedspread deeply with curved toes. He sighed loudly as Ephram took him into a hot mouth. 

Pants sounded throughout the tiny, dorm room as Ephram enveloped him fully, and he cursed at the ceiling. He felt the curve of a smile as he tried not to arch up off the bed.

He came loudly, and feel back as Ephram pulled away.

The pianist inched up the twin bed, and snuggled close to Bright, sighing his name. Getting louder, louder, louder....."Bright!" 

Bright jumped awake, blinking sleepy eyes up at his roommate. "Huh? What's going on?"

Ephram grinned at him. Evilly. "Don't you have a final in like," he paused to look down at his watch. "Five minutes?" 

Bright shook his head, "No, it's not 'till Tuesday." 

"It is Tuesday?" 

His brain was shutting off, trying to get back to Ephram dreamland. He loved those dreams, would love it even more if Ephram would just...."What?!" 

He opened his eyes to a smirk this time, and glanced over at the clock. "Shit!" He flew out of the bed, and moved hurriedly throughout the room. "Shit!" Shit! Shit!" He repeated as he searched frantically for his shoes.

Ephram just stood there, arms crossed, smirking.

"I can't believe it happened again!" Bright shouted, grabbing his backpack, and flying towards the door. He left the room to the sound of Ephram's laughter.

As he raced down the halls, he grumbled under his breath.

"Man, I hate finals week." 


End file.
